


Watching the World Burn

by AsteraceaeBlue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, molliarty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 19:50:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6164712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsteraceaeBlue/pseuds/AsteraceaeBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molliarty one-shot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching the World Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to MizJoely for the beta check!

There is a moment before death when time seems to expand forever, allowing a languid exploration of memories…thoughts. It’s a slow spark of electricity in the brain as the signals travel, ever decelerating, flickering and snapping from synapse to synapse, neuron to neuron. It’s glorious. One of the most brilliant experiences in all of life.

It was a shame James Moriarty had to wait until moments before he died to feel the peculiar, reverberating current of life shooting through his mind.

If he’d felt it before he might have held back on pulling the trigger.

As he lay on the warm surface of Saint Bartholomew’s roof, the tar and cement spitting up noxious fumes into his nostrils and swirling down into his lungs, he thought about the moments he’d come close to the same sensation.

Watching a small bird gasp its few lasts breaths in the garden of his childhood home after it had flown into a window, its little body hiccupping erratically.

The thrill of watching Carl Powers thrash and drown, a marvelously dramatic end to a young life that had made his own such torture.

A heart seizing sense of excitement when Sherlock Holmes looked his way for the first time and knew him as Jim Moriarty. Oh that had been brilliant. Such fun.

And, he thought as he watched the clouds drift over the cerulean blue of London sky, fucking Molly Hooper.

That had been bloody fantastic. Not at all something he’d expected. Getting his hands dirty in that way had generally been a no-no, but there were exceptions to every rule.

And Molly Hooper had been a magnificent exception. The little minx had brought him to her flat and forced him to sit in her lounge and make nice with her little pussy cat. The dreaded thing had left orange and white hair all over his designer jeans and he’d been tempted to drop the façade right then and there and throw the little shite out the window.

But then Molly, clever little Molly, had brought in microwave heated springrolls and wontons, two small glasses, and a bottle of gin and he suddenly saw potential for the night. Liquor hazed, carbohydrate satiated, sex-starved potential, because he knew from the look on her face that the gin was not intended to give her courage. She had all the courage she needed and a plan to go with it. It was for him.

He was more than happy to oblige.

They had watched three God-awful episodes of Glee, taking drinks according to a drinking game Molly had found online.

Someone gets slushied? Drink.

Someone writes on the whiteboard? Drink.

Rachel closes her eyes and turns her head to the side while she’s singing a solo? Drink until she opens her eyes again.

By the third episode, Miss Mousey Molly was practically in his lap, her fingers dancing a fine line along his torso and thigh that was clearly meant to test the waters.

It took all of two seconds for Jim to decide to drop all pretense of Jim-from-IT, reaching out and gripping her wrist until he could feel her blood pulsing under her skin. He’d looked at her and licked his lips. She’d stared right back, surprised, but far from afraid.

She was riding him in five minutes, her tits bouncing in front of his face and her long hair tickling his chest and shoulders. She came shouting his name and nearly ripping the stuffing out of the back of the sofa, her thighs quivering for several minutes. Then she’d slid off of him and (almost) gently pulled the condom from his cock before dropping to her knees and swallowing him to the hilt. That moment was a rival for the surge of electricity in his mind, the utter bliss of equal parts quiet and chaos that he was always searching for.

They only rested for ten minutes before he was dragging her to the bedroom. He’d fucked her for hours that night.

Too bad she’d had the impudence to drop him a few days later. Apparently mind-blowing sex was not enough to convince her to keep dating a notorious criminal mastermind. Shame.

But, oh, he’d tried to convince her. Only two weeks before he’d decided to put a bullet in his own brain, letting the boredom and the tedium of life literally drain from the back of his head, he’d made one last attempt.

Jim had always loved how she had a habit of staying in the morgue or the lab late into the night after everyone else had gone home. It made it so very easy to pop in for a visit, dressed in his finest blue suit.

Oh and she had liked that, even if she was pretending to hate him. He saw her eyes wander.

“I’ll call the police,” she’d whispered, reaching into the pocket of her lab coat.

“Right,” he’d drawled, casually walking towards her. “But, before you do, Molly, luv, just one question.” He’d crowded her against the cold metal of the morgue wall, just an inch of sizzling air between them. “You know that thing people are always saying, that very dull but accurate thing – some men just want to watch the world burn?”

“Yes?” she’d breathed, looking up at him in terror and fascination.

“Care to strike the match with me?” he’d asked with a wicked grin.

The answer had been no, of course, but Molly Hooper could now say that she’d been thoroughly fucked against a cold chamber…and on a metal autopsy table…and on her desk. There had been no hesitation for any of that, not at all. She’d welcomed his thick cock and all of its talent, kissing and biting his lips until they were swollen and tender, desperately gasping, “More…oh God, please Jim, more!” until she was shaking in his arms and clenching him to completion.

Oh yes, those two nights with Doctor Molly Hooper had been a competitor to this moment. If Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a complete tosser, he might get the chance to know the exquisite company of Molly as well; Jim always knew she was willing when it came to that patrician lummox.

Well, Jim thought as the blue sky narrowed to a point in his vision, his body growing delightfully warm and numb, if the Consulting Detective wasn’t up for the task, he would just have to find some way to make sure his Molly was satisfied.

Death didn’t seem all that permanent, when all was said and done. And she would be worth defying it for.


End file.
